To those who wait
by Beckydaspatz
Summary: Just my attempt to fill in the missing holes from when Sam and Dean were apart for two weeks, takes place in S5. "And just like that they were brothers again."


**A.N. More from Beckdaspaz! YAY! Just starting in on season 5, and I had this nagging thought, about the two weeks (was it more than two weeks?) that Dean and Sam spent apart, so it picks up right at the "Pit stop at Mount Doom" line in Good God Y'all and covers until the last scene in Fallen Idols, it's from Sams' POV. Thanks as always for reading, appreciate you guys more than I can say!**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

Sam had a hard time doing much of anything but looking out the window, watching the scenery blur as the honky tonk country music droned on in the background. He really thought Dean would put up more of a fight, but he had underestimated how worn down his brother was. And really didn't he have right to be... fighting Heaven and Hell **and** his brother to top it off. A wave of shame hit him, fingers digging into the top of his jeans. The driver looked at him dispassionately, muttered a low "You okay, buddy?" Sam clenched his jaw, thinking about Deans' offer to take the Impala, knowing that his brother had no other way to say he was sorry and he loved him. Sam just hoped Dean understood that him leaving was trying to say the exact same thing.

The guy driving, Roy it turned out was his name, dropped Sam off a couple of towns later, finally having enough of the strong silence from the giant next to him. Sam didn't blame him, just walked around looking for a car that was left unlocked, chuckling humorlessly at how much he had changed. He didn't pay that much attention on the drive to the run down motel, switching off the radio as soon as he slid in behind the wheel. The first sound that registered in his ears was tinkling of the keys in the door and then the soft thud of his duffel hitting the bed. The noise rang empty with no echoing thud from the second bed. He turned to survey his surroundings, eyes scanning all the exits, shuffling salt out of his bag to block the exits. Old habits die hard he supposes. It's not until he sits on the edge of the bed, stomach violently lurching and demanding that he empty out the contents, that he realizes just how spent he really is. He swipes the trashcan by the side of the bed and vomits, once, twice, three times. Not quite sure if it is grief, or shame, or a gut full of salt making him sick. Probably a combination of all three. After that he sinks into the bed, exhaustion taking over.

When he wakes he is greeted by a combination of drool and tears and a sinking sense of nightmares that hit a little too close to home. He runs a hand over his face, shaking off the dread and taking a deep breath. All that greets him is the stale scent of sheets that have been bleached one too many times and he shoves off the bed with the intention of making it to the shower. His vision swims momentarily, the after effect of being knocked out within the last 24 hours and Sam decides he really doesn't need a shower that badly. He turns on the TV instead, settling on some old sci-fi movie. He starts to get drowsy, pushed up against the headboard of the bed, chortling softly when the hero kills the monster with a weed-whacker. "Dude," he starts, yawning. "Gotta pick up a weed-whacker for our next job." It isn't until he hears the deafening silence in return that he remembers he is alone.

Two days later he is scrolling through his phone for Deans' number, pausing to stare at the digits. He would pick up, wouldn't he? He was still his brother, right? Uncertainly makes him slam the phone shut with a frustrated grunt, pulling his cleaning rag back out as he wipes down the bar. He is completely oblivious to the attractive strawberry blonde staring after him until she puts herself in his line of vision. "Hey Keith," she says and it takes him a minute to realize she is talking to him. She smiles warmly at him. "You missed a spot." and Sam is reminded that there is more than Dean in the world, and maybe he will be okay. He manages to convince himself for a full five minutes.

The sigh that pulls up from the middle of his chest is heavy as he plops into the armchair by the bed. It's been such a long day and all he really wants is to have a beer and chill out. With Dean. He wonders, not for the first time, what his brother is doing and without really thinking about it he is fiddling with the cell phone, aimlessly flitting over the digits that would connect him to his brother. The tiny v in the top left hand corner grabs his attention and he wonders why he didn't see it before. He checks missed calls, no Dean. His mind scans through his memories, trying to figure out what the voice mail was from and who left it. He remembers Deans voice filtering through his phone weeks ago _Listen to me you bloodsucking freak_ and everything comes together. Dean wouldn't have come for him if he really felt that way, he would have left Sam to his own ruin. "Oh God." he mumbles, fumbling with the numbers, pressing the phone to his ear as the real voice mail begins.

"_Hey. It's me. Uh..."_The voice breaks off and Sam can clearly picture Dean pacing, face cast downwards. _"Look I'll get right down to it. I__'m still pissed... and I owe you a serious beat down. But... I shouldn't have said what i said. You know, I'm not Dad. We're brothers. You know, we're family. And, uh... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn't change." _He sounds contrite and Sams' grip wavers slightly on the phone, pressing it tighter against his ear as if he can turn back time, hear this message instead of the fake, make the right choice and stop the Apocalypse from ever coming true. His brothers voices cracks on his next line, sound shaking in unison with his hands. "_Sammy, I'm sorry."_ The message cuts off and Sam can't hold in the storm raging in his chest a second longer. His brother was sorry, his brother, who he had almost choked to death, called him even when Sam didn't deserve it. Dean never gave up on him, even after, God, even after everything. Every goddamn thing, he still believed in him. And Sam...he thought he was saving Dean. Stopping him from having to sacrifice any more for him. The carpet is biting into his face, sobs mingling in with the screams freeing themselves from his throat. At some point he had slid off of the chair and face down into the carpet, cries of outrage and grief and love muffled. The shouts die shortly after they begin, giving way to weeping. The phone requests if he wants to save or delete the message and his heart breaks all over again. He listens to it, over and over and over, hoping to take comfort from it. He can't. He cries harder that night than he has since Dean has died, purging his soul of the agony he has grown so accustomed too. And when he wakes in the morning exactly where he fell he misses his brother more than words can say.

He thinks vaguely that he is going to kill whoever is calling him at this time at night, before he lifts his weary head to paw around the nightstand for his phone. "_M?" _he hears a gruff voice bark as he mumbles back something incoherent. He is fully awake by the time the name "_Sammy?"_ is called out on the other end. "Dean?" he questions, sitting up. _"Yeah dude, it's me."_ The conversation is brief, Deans' voice not giving much away as he tells Sam they need to meet up and talk things out. But Sam is so happy to hear from him he would have been pleased if Dean had called to find his missing socks. He packs up everything and gets in his car, flicking on the classic rock station. It is the first time in weeks it doesn't hurt to hear the music his brother loves so much

He doesn't look all that good. Seemingly walking fine, and his posture is normal, but his eyes are holding the weight of the world. They acknowledge each other silently, Dean calling out his name and then handing him Rubys' knife. And there is a tentative trust there, fragile, but there none the less. He is telling him he is sorry, and he was wrong and Sam wants to tell him the same, but he can't seem to speak around the lump in his throat. And then they are loading up into the Impala, his legs too long for the seat, and his brother is thumping on the steering wheel in time to whatever God awful music is on, and he loves it so much he can't do anything but smile.

He's so sick of this crap. It's been a week since they have been back together and he is really friggin tired of Dean suspicious looks. He already had handed his phone over to his brother so he could screen every call that came in and the only time he was alone, I mean really alone, was when he used the bathroom. He is being suffocated and he really, really, hates it. And as Dean looks at him with a smidgen of contempt for the umpteenth time Sam thinks this isn't going to work. The talk that follows is painful, but necessary and then they are off to kill Paris Hilton of all people and Sam feels like he is waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe him and Dean should go their separate ways again...

Dean got his ass kicked by Paris Hilton and teasing him feels good, and fun and right. And hell he is still kinda chuckling about it as they make their way back to the car, full on grinning every time Dean grumbles "Shut up Sam." And then they are talking, legitimately communicating for the first time in what feels like forever. His brother understands, his brother is going to give him another chance, his brother will never stop being his brother. The quiet camaraderie is better than what has been between them as of late and Sam is feeling relieved as he turns to his respective side of the car. "Hey." Dean says quietly as Sam turns back towards him. "You wanna drive?" He looks down at the keys only slightly bewildered. "You sure?" Dean gives a soft shrug of his shoulders "Yeah I could, uh...I could use a nap." It's such a lie, but Sam will take what he can get as he reaches for the keys. They change sides and Sam can feel the subtle shift as he drops into the drivers seat. His fingers fiddle with the knob as he changes to an alternative rock station. Dean cants his head towards him, opening one eye in mock annoyance. "What the hell is that Sam?" His answering grin is the epitome of 'Little brother' as he retorts "Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake hole." Dean smirks, laying his head back on the seat, "Bitch." And just like that they are brothers again.

**A.w. Like, love, hate? Any and all comments welcome :D**


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